Basil Ambrose Shrikeweed
Race: Galdor
Birthday: Vortas, 17th 2682
Age: 38
Height: 5'6"
FC: Matthew Macfadyen
Birthday: Vortas, 17th 2682
Age: 38
Height: 5'6"
FC: Matthew Macfadyen
Physical Description
Possessed of an oval face, a broad brow prematurely furrowed from long hours of staring at legal documents, or raising a quizzical eyebrow, there is little enough to recall about Shrikeweed. His eyes are of no particular color, being a sort of washed-out hazel, and his features, though regular and well formed, are not striking. Indeed, the only memorable thing about his face might be his luxuriant deep-copper colored side whiskers. In earlier years, these were more extravagant, to the point of being florid, but with age came what might be called wisdom, and the glories of the past have been somewhat tamed.
In height, he is a little above the average, and he possesses the magnificent frame of a man whose occupation involves long hours at his desk combined with brisk walks through narrow corridors full of clerks.
Shrikeweed dresses in well-made but fairly conventional suits in muted tones as befits one of his station. Only his waistcoats and cravats might be considered avant garde in any sense, for he enjoys fine embroidery and tastefully complex botanical patterns. These he usually wares on more artistic occasions such as his periodic attending of the opera.
On more common occasions he favors earth-tones and charcoal grey. Drab, unremarkable, clothes for a drab, unremarkable man.
Personality
There is, within Shrikeweed, a profound and deeply unromantic love of order, of legal niceties, studied politeness, and above all, love for his city. Vienda is not simply home to him, it is the proper sphere of life, a sacred space where civilization plays out, and where those who wish civilization well cultivate civic virtue and try their best to hold back chaos. Or, at least, that is what he wished he believed. Of late, the city seems just another place, and lacking in the spark and animated delight it once had.
The unrest in the streets, the agitations of the last years and the foolish and bloody-minded resistance to galdori rule weigh heavy upon him, and cast a gloomy pall over the orderly machine that is the Shrikeweedian soul. He moves through the city, guarded and alert, and even in the comparative safety of his offices, he finds little respite. He has not yet fallen into paranoia, just over cautiousness. This has had a notable affect upon his actions and behaviors. He keeps his office in a curious kind of order, with everything in its proper place, but according to a system only he can quite understand. He is careful to always secure his papers and his work, and locks things away when they are not in use. The door to his office has been retrofitted with additional locks. As of yet, no one but the cleaning staff have complained. He’s taken to doing his own dusting.
In his professional person, he is efficient, thorough, and given to a somewhat overly elaborate pattern of speech, calling up obscure legal precedent or abstruse elements of political history and theory to make a point or, quite frankly, to befuddle some feckless politico so that Shrikeweed, and by extension the civil service, can carry on with what they view as the important work of running the government without politicians getting their grimy hands on anything.
At home, in the small apartment above the tea shop, he is more relaxed, for here at least he feels safe and the order is not so much guarded as cultivated. This can be easily seen in the easy and comfortable way in which the books are placed just so on the shelves by the reading chair, or how the blue and white porcelain teapot is always invitingly ready upon the small octagonal table. But it is with his orchids that the order is best expressed. For years now, he has maintained a collection of various species of orchids, lavishing them with care and attention. His space is small, however, and occasionally he is forced to ruthlessly purge his collection to make room for a new specimen acquired from another collector, or from one of the flower shows. Usually he finds others who might want an orchid or three, for he cannot abide throwing the delicate things away.
By nature, Shrikeweed is not overly sociable, and he often spends his evenings alone with a book and a snifter of pear brandy or a glass of wine, but when the mood strikes him and he desires the company of others, he can be found at the Pendulum Club. There too he is freer and less guarded, and even laughs and jokes with his fellow members over a game of billiards or whist. He is rather good at billiards.
He has few friends, but those he does have he values greatly and in their company he is as easy and relaxed as he can be. The closest of these is his long-time friend from youth, Godfrey Norland Cotswold-Wainwright (known to almost everyone as Waistcotting). They grew up together, two ink-stained scions of storied legal families.
Backstory
In afteryears, he would say of himself that he was born to the law. It was as accurate a statement as one could make about the early life, for B.A. Shrikeweed, esq. He grew up in and around the labyrinth of streets surrounding the Court in Vienda, learned to read upon case files, newspaper articles, and legal reviews, and was taught mathematics by an accountant who served as an expert witness in fraud and embezzlement trials. It was a natural enough childhood for the younger son of a notable lawyer and a political journalist.
When he was old enough, his father, the lawyer, would send him on errands about the neighborhood, delivering writs, picking up documents, or running to and from the various stationers’ to acquire more paper and ink. In this way, he developed quite a useful map of the area of the courts, so much so that it would be possible to blindfold him, set him upon some known street, and without fail he could very nearly find his way home.
Of his inevitable years at Brunnhold, little enough needs to be said. He did not enjoy them. So many years away from Vienda, away from the courts and the narrow ink-stained lanes of home were not pleasant, and when at last he could leave that red-stone prison, he did so without a second thought.
One curious activity to took of while a student, and kept up for some years after returning home, was perusing the art of boxing. He and Wainscotting started off sparring with each other to pass the time and work out some of their pent-up frustrations at being in exile. Then they both took to attending quasi-legal matches, occasionally fighting, and often running amateur legal interference for the participants. Shrikeweed himself was modestly competent at the art, being a passable outside-fighter, lasting longer in the ring than might be thought. He did not seem to notice the pain in quite the same way as others, finding it focusing instead. After a while, this state of mind began to disturb him and he gave up the hobby about seven or eight years ago. The events of the last few years have seen him return to the art, and though he more often loses than wins, he engages in fights on a not infrequent basis.
For some time he worked as a legal clerk in the family firm, the illustrious Shrikeweed, Wensbrooke, and Kenge, mostly doing case research and drafting briefs. It was good, solid work, and as the firm was doing well, so was he. Yet private practice was not for him. He could not stand so many of the clients. They were fools, or contemptible, or nakedly corrupt, but above all they were small and petty. Something of grander scope was called for.
In the autumn of his twenty third year, with the rain pelting down about him, and his legal credentials under one arm, he made his way to the Chancery, and without much ceremony, joined the civil service. There, at least, the fools, contemptible, and the corrupt would be on a grander scale.
With skill, dedication, and more than a little manipulation, Shrikeweed moved from department to department, picking up skills, information, and leverage along the way. Now, he works for the Office of Legislative Affairs, consulting with politicians and policy makers on the minutiae of their bills, and assisting his fellow civil servants in shepherding the policies through a labyrinth of laws ever bit as tangled as the streets around the court. And like all good shepherds, Shrikeweed knows when one of his papery sheep needs shearing, or should be sent for slaughter.
Aptitude Skills
Mental
Excellent
Excellent
Physical
Poor
Poor
Social
Good
Good
Focus Skills
Career and Income
Housing and Inventory
Goals
- Increase his standing in the civil service
- Bring down the Dorehaven Bombing conspirators, preferably through the slow grinding of the law
- Work towards bringing order to the city
- Acquire the finest and most unusual orchids
- Finally best Waitscotting in the Pendulum Club Whist Tournament
